


Turn The Lights On

by arbitrary_introvert



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Angel Wings, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Castiel, Castiel/Dean - Freeform, Cute, Cute Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester Has a Wing Kink, Dean Winchester has wings, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Cute, Destiel Fluff, Destiel Wing fic, Destiel vanilla, Destiel wings, Fluff, Fluff/Smut, Fluffy, Has a lot of sex but is also very wholesome, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I tried to write fluff but then I also wrote sex, Insecure Dean, Insecure Dean Winchester, M/M, Oneshot but might add more later on, Romance, Sam's not in this one sorry, Scared Dean Winchester, Slow Sex, Smut, Supportive Castiel, Top Cas, Top Castiel, Wing Kink, Wing sex, Winged Dean Wincheser, Winged Dean Winchester, Wings, castiel - Freeform, dean has wings, destiel sex, destiel smut, romantic, vanilla sex, vanilla sex involving wings, well it's not exactly kinky sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-12 23:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17477057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrary_introvert/pseuds/arbitrary_introvert
Summary: Keeping Michael locked inside his head gives Dean a little taste of what it's like to be an angel.Wings. Dean has wings. Oh, yeah, and he can see Castiel's face, too. This was definitely not a regular Tuesday afternoon.





	Turn The Lights On

**Author's Note:**

> Yaaaaay! Super shitty, cheesy, hopeless romance writing fest!
> 
> In case you're wondering what Dean's wings look like in this story, here you go: 
> 
> the covert feathers are a copper-toned brown, the primaries are cream colored with the secondaries being just *slightly* darker than that, and the scapulas are chestnut brown. Oh, yeah, and the primary/secondary feathers have scattered speckles that are more of a muted brown color. 
> 
> I didn't describe them in the actual story because I feel like it made things a little more real and intimate :)
> 
> In case you have no idea about wing anatomy I put a picture up top. Halfway through writing this, I realized that not everybody takes time to study things like bird wings just 'cause :D hope it helped. Also, sorry for any typos. If you find any let me know and I'll fix them.

 

 

 

**~~~~~**

"Cas?" Dean's voice sounded strange.

Castiel frowned. Dean never sounded like that. Not really, not unless he was scared, which wasn't often. He paused where he stood in the hallway, next to Dean's door.

"Are you alright?" He asked, unsure of what else to say.

There wasn't a reply. Castiel heard some scuffling, like someone was moving around very rapidly. The small amount of light that peaked through the space between the bottom of the door and the floor disappeared when the light was turned off. Then he heard the sound of pacing back and forth.

What on earth?

"Dean, tell me what's wrong." Castiel rested his hand on the doorknob but didn't turn it yet. He wasn't quite sure if the issue was worth intruding over.

"I, uh, I dunno," said Dean, "Something weird. But I don't think I can do it again."

"Do what?"

"Make them... Show up, I guess? I did it once on accident but they only stuck around for twenty seconds or so."

"Can I just come in? We need to figure out what's wrong if you want me to help you," argued Castiel.

The pacing sound stopped abruptly as Dean froze, pondering the angel's words. Castiel hoped he hadn't said the wrong thing. Dean didn't usually ask for help, so hearing him call Cas's name like that rare. He didn't want to scare the hunter into changing his mind and refusing assistance. Especially if this was something as serious as it had been made out to be thus far.

"We'll figure it out, okay?" Castiel tried again. "But you must tell me what's wrong if we're going to do that."

Dean's voice sounded small. "Can we keep the lights off?"

Castiel didn't think that was a good idea, but he had a feeling that accepting the Winchester's only condition would be the single way of getting into that room. "Of course," he said. "I won't look if that helps."

"Is Sam out there?"

"No, I'm alone."

A long pause.

Then Dean opened the door just wide enough for Castiel to slip inside before closing and locking it again. The lights stayed off. Dean backed away quickly, retreating away from Castiel almost as though he was afraid. Cas stayed true to his word and kept his gaze fixed on the floor. Though he couldn't see the hunter trembling he could hear it; Dean was shivering slightly, his teeth clacking together just barely.

"What seems to be the problem?" Castiel asked, eyes still on the floor.

"Well, Michael's in my head. You know that. He's sorta stuck in there. Like the cage, only it's me." Dean was searching desperately for the right words. "I'm still kinda his vessel in the sense that he's up in the control room only he doesn't have the actual controls."

"I'm listening."

"But he's still _there_. Dammit, I can't really explain it. I guess I'm having side effects or something? I don't know."

This was troubling news. Castiel nodded along, deep in thought. He didn't want to press or anything but Dean was obviously distressed about something and here they were, standing alone in a room with the lights off because of it. This had to be serious for his friend to be acting this way.

"I know you don't want me to see," said Castiel slowly, "So can you at least describe what's happening to you?"

There was a slight hesitation before Dean spoke. Finally, he said, "Today I heard voices. Twice. Like background conversations, but I can tune them out if I wanna."

"If that was all we wouldn't be standing here with the lights off."

Castiel could hear Dean's eye-roll. "Well, duh. I just don't know how to say it."

"I think you're capable of at least trying," Cas said pointedly.

Dean realized he had been caught stalling and sighed. "I guess... Earlier the backs of my shoulders felt kinda sore, like there was weight there. It hurt. So I was trying to figure out what was wrong, ya know? I was in the mirror, looking at my back and thinking about how I needed to figure out why I was sore and then—"

"And then what?"

"They just appeared."

" _What_ appeared?"

"The wings."

Castiel stopped. He blinked a few times, his thoughts whirling for a second at even the possibility of Dean maybe having the divine gift of wings as a side effect of Michael being contained in his head. Could it be?

"Your wings?"

"Not mine," said Dean sharply, "Michael's."

Castiel shook his head. "No, Dean. You would only have Michael's wings if he was in control of your vessel. That's how it works. If you have wings, it must be how you described it: a side effect. The leftover angel magic from having Michael encased in your mind had nowhere to go and manifested itself in the form of wings."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that you have wings _because_ of Michael, but they're yours. It's all you."

Dean didn't seem to believe that and took a step back. Castiel was still trying to be respectful by not looking at Dean's silhouette, but he knew the hunter well enough to know that Dean was doing that nervous habit he had in which he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Will they go away?"

"Maybe they will when Michael does. Maybe they won't. I've never seen anything like this, therefore, I'm unsure."

The silence that hung in the air was thick. Castiel could sense all sorts of emotions and feelings coming off of Dean, including nervousness, denial, and a longing for some sort of clarity again. Indeed, Castiel wished for that too. He greatly disliked it when Dean was distressed and disliked it more still when there was nothing he could do to help relieve at least some of it.

"I understand that you're uncomfortable, Dean, but perhaps it would help if I—"

"No."

"Dean..."

"But what if it's not me?" Dean demanded, "What if you look and you see Michael's wings? Not me, him. It's always him."

Castiel was already shaking his head. "There's not much that I'm sure of in this situation, but there is one thing, and that is that there is no way your body could possibly be able to withstand bearing the wings of an Archangel without crumbling to dust. Those are not Michael's wings."

"Okay, well, what if they aren't normal? What if they're all gross and deformed since I'm not an angel?"

"They won't be."

"Then what if I can't manifest them again?" Dean tried again, finally finding the only issue that could stop them. "The wings are still there. I can feel them. But I could only make them 'show up' for a few seconds before I lost control and they kinda just faded. I don't know how to bring them back."

"Dean." Castiel had to make himself firm. "I will help you. Do you understand? But you want that to happen, you have to let me."

"I don't want you to see," muttered Dean.

"Then I—"

"Fine! Fine. You can help me," Dean snapped, "But here's the deal; the lights stay off."

Once again, Castiel didn't quite agree with those terms. He wondered how he was supposed to help sort out this problem if he could barely see it in the room's dim lighting. Yet he forced himself to nod, unwilling to risk Dean's refusal.

"Alright," Castiel said, "Deal."

Dean seemed a little surprised, like he had expected the angel to argue with him. Cas found a small amount of satisfaction in proving him wrong.

"Well, what do you need me to do?" Dean asked glumly.

Castiel thought about that. He supposed the first and easiest thing to do would be to help Dean get familiarized with his wings. But in order to do that, first, the hunter would have to figure out how to manifest them into their physical form and keep them there for longer than a few seconds. This was sure to be a difficult task especially with Dean's tendency to give up on things when they grew too frustrating.

"I would like for you to sit on the floor," he said slowly. Dean seemed bewildered until Castiel demonstrated, sitting on the ground with his legs crisscrossed. "Face me."

"This is weird," Dean grimaced.

"We're literally just sitting."

"Okay, whatever."

Dean copied Castiel, sitting about two feet in front of him. It was dark but Cas could just barely see that Dean's muscles were tense, his body ready to spring into action if need be. Dean looked like a caged animal that had been backed into a corner.

Okay, now what? Castiel felt a little at a loss for words, unsure of where he was going with this. He had never had to _try_ to manifest his wings because it had always just been something he had been able to do. Sure, only angels and demons could actually see his wings in a physical form, but they were always there when he needed them to be. He wasn't sure how to convey step by step instructions on how to give something that was purely divine a solid mass.

_Well, here goes._

Castiel felt a cold, tingling sensation run down the shoulders of his vessel as he stretched out his wings. To Cas, it felt almost like he had just woken up from a nap and had a nice, comfortable stretch. He let out a soft sigh and Dean gasped. He couldn't see Cas's wings, but he could see the silhouette of the large, ten-foot wingspan as they expanded outwards.

"Cas," Dean said breathlessly.

"What?"

"They're so... I've never seen them before."

"What do you think?" Castiel asked. Suddenly he didn't care that it was dark in the room because he knew he was blushing, heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. There was something he hadn't mentioned to Dean — Angels saw each other in their true form all the time, but to show the physical manifestation of their wings while in a vessel was different, it was considered sacred and deeply, deeply personal. Intimate, even.

"I think they're awesome," said Dean earnestly.

"You mentioned earlier that you could feel a weight on your shoulders?"

"Yeah. Kinda hurt," he concurred.

"Do you believe you're capable of focusing on that feeling?"

"I can give it a shot."

"Okay, try to imagine that someone is grabbing that feeling and pulling on it. It should feel like they're tugging on the skin of your shoulders," Castiel explained, hoping he was making at least some form of sense. "Oh, it's also cold. You might describe it as a ticklish feeling, sort of like it tingles."

"I might not get it as fast as you do," said Dean somewhat sheepishly, "Gimme just a second."

"Take your time."

The room got quiet. It wasn't awkward or anything, but just a long silence that fell over both of them as Dean tried to zero in on the feeling and give it a physical form. In the darkness of the room, Castiel could just barely make out Dean's lips moving slightly as he soundlessly murmured to himself, his eyes shut. Castiel waited patiently.

At one point there was the soft ruffling sound that always accompanied an angel using their wings. It came from Dean. Dean heard it, felt it too, and grew excited. But in his excitement he lost his focus. His wings didn't appear.

"Dammit," Dean muttered. "I almost had it."

"You were very close. Try again."

Dean groaned. "Why is it so _hard?_ "

"That's like asking why you can't paint a Mona Lisa without taking a single art class in your entire life," Castiel chastised.

Dean pretended to be offended. "Hey, I took an art class in high school and I'll have you know my stick figures were the best of my entire class."

Cas rolled his eyes. "I'm saying you've never tried this before. Give yourself a second chance."

Dean huffed. Though he was obviously doubtful he did try again, which Castiel truly appreciated. He curved his wings around the both of them, sort of encasing the two of them without actually making contact. The raw, celestial magic that came from this action seemed to help. He heard Dean gasp a little, which was followed by the rustle of feathers. Castiel's wings were knocked aside as Dean's stretched out rapidly and clumsily.

"Hold it! Calm down, Dean, breathe. Get used to them before you try to move or else you'll lose them!" Cas urged, trying to stress the importance of this without pressuring the human too much.

Dean went very stiff, trying to level out his breaths. The shadow of his body, including his wings, became still as he struggled to hold on to this new part if him.

"I think I got it," he said finally, sounding shocked. He shook his wings a little, getting used to the feeling of them being there. "Cas, this is — this is really weird."

Castiel didn't answer. He felt as though he had been struck.

He saw Dean, sitting there on the floor across from him. This was normal, though, the thing that got to him was seeing the beautiful, dark shapes of Dean's wings in the dim lighting of the room. He wondered what color they were, if they were speckled or a solid color like his own. Suddenly he yearned to touch them, to feel the softness of the scapular feathers where they reconnected to Dean's back.

Of course, Castiel didn't say this.

"How does it feel?" He asked instead.

"I don't know. Different but like it's normal, you know? My right arm is my arm, I've always had it. I've never _not_ had a right arm," said Dean confusedly, "I guess it's like that? I feel like the wings are just part of me."

"Can you move them? Do they feel sore at all?"

"I could move them fully if we weren't in such a tiny-ass room and they weren't so big," the hunter shrugged, "And I guess they're a little sore, but that's probably because I've never had, you know, wings."

Castiel nodded. His throat felt tight. "The next step is to get familiar with them. I have a feeling that you will have wings as long as Michael's trapped in your head. Maybe even if we manage to expel him safely, due to the magical residue they will remain. You should get to know them as well as you know your right arm."

"How do I do that?" Dean asked.

"Sit on the edge of your bed the way we are now, but face the opposite way so I can stand behind you," ordered Castiel. "I'm going to inspect them. That is, if you don't mind."

Dean's answer was so long in coming that Castiel began to panic and think that he had gone too far, made things too intimate and ruined everything. But then Dean agreed with a nod of his head. "Okay," he said.

He did as Castiel said he should, extending his wingspan as much as the room would allow.

_I'm doing this to help Dean. That's all. This isn't about me. It was never about me, only Dean,_ said Cas firmly to himself.

He held out a hand, gently letting it rest on top of the wing. The covert feathers there were soft and just below he could feel the bone. "Can you feel that?"

"Yeah, it just feels like your hand."

Castiel nodded, forgetting that Dean couldn't see it. He ran his hand from the top of the wing to the outside, over the primary coverts all the way to the primary feathers themselves. Most angel feathers were coarse but Dean's felt soft; his wings gave the impression that they were made for flying, instead of tools to be used in battle the way most angels' were.

"What about that?" Castiel asked.

"Mm-hmm. Feels normal." Dean hesitated a little before adding, "Kinda nice."

_Oh, God._

The urge to sin had literally never been as strong as it was now.

Castiel didn't stop and he moved on to the secondaries. His hands ached to touch Dean's scapular feathers, but that area was particularly sensitive and then Dean would know immediately what was happening, realize that Cas was pretty much giving him the angel version of a handjob. He couldn't let that happen. Cas regained some amount of self-control, forcing himself to come to a stop.

"I believe they're fully functional," he said, withdrawing his hand quickly while he still could.

"Oh. Okay." Dean's voice sounded strange. "Is that all?"

"Yes. I think the next step would be..." Cas tried to focus on the words but they escaped him. "The next step would be to... Well..."

"To what?"

"To... Tell Sam about your wings. See what he thinks." Castiel swallowed, "They might be useful in our current situation."

"Right." Dean sounded disappointed. Despite his apparent agreeance with Castiel's idea he didn't move, remaining where he sat on the bed. He seemed almost unwilling to leave.

"What is it?" Castiel couldn't tare his gaze away.

"Before we tell Sam, can you keep doing that thing? Just for a minute?" Dean's voice was quiet and he was mumbling in embarrassment. "I know it's fucking weird. I just kinda really didn't mind it."

"You mean you want me to touch your wings?"

"Well, you don't gotta say it like that. But yeah, I guess so."

Castiel felt almost like he was in a daze. Could he be dreaming? It was possible, but no, this was too real.

He moved somewhat more confidently now. Dean had not only given him permission to touch his wings but _asked_ him to do so. This was a beautiful moment and Castiel didn't want to spoil it by making things dirty, but he thought about what he himself enjoyed when it came to physical contact with his wings and tried to go from there. He put a hand on each wing and actually touched them now. Before, he had simply run his hands over the wing but now he combed through the feathers, his movements deliberate.

Dean inhaled sharply in response. Cas froze.

"You don't have to stop," said Dean in a low voice.

"Are you sure?"

Cas couldn't see the nod very well through the darkness, but he felt the motion and heard a mumbled 'yes.' He continued.

Dean liked a lot of the same things Castiel did. He liked the secondaries and primaries enough but reacted the strongest when the coverts were touched. Castiel realized that Dean was actually leaning into the touch.

As his hands got closer and closer to the scapular feathers, the most sensitive part of the wing, he felt Dean begin to shiver under his touch. Dean bit his knuckle lightly, trying to keep from making some sort of sound. He did very well at this until Castiel's pinky brushed the edge of where the scapular feathers met the top of the wing, at which point a soft groan was emitted from the back of his throat.

"Should I stop?" Castiel asked him.

Dean shook his head quickly.

"Dean—"

"Please, Cas."

_Oh my God._

"Okay," he whispered.

Castiel went for it. He moved his hands to the scapulars, where the wing connected to Dean's shoulders. He pushed down lightly with the heel of his hand like he was giving a massage. Dean gasped, his body jutting forward at the unexpected sensation that was the outcome of that action.

"Oh, God," Dean croaked.

"Shh," Castiel soothed, "I know, it's new. It's probably very overwhelming."

"That's one way to put it," the hunter responded in a weak murmur. Then he shook himself. "Just... Slow, okay?"

_Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my—_ "Okay. Come back to me, Dean."

Dean shivered. Then, slowly, he pulled his shirt off over his head, struggling for a moment with getting his wings out of the holes they had ripped in it. But soon it was off, his torso and back were completely exposed, and Castiel felt like Christmas had come early.

He resumed what he had been doing earlier but indeed went slower for Dean's sake. His fingers combed through the soft, downy feathers of the scapular area and Dean made a low, quiet noise that seemed to come from deep within his chest as a result. Oh, he liked that. So Castiel did it again. Dean tried to muffle the noise the noise the second time. Castiel didn't like that; he wanted to hear the sounds. So he repeated the action a third time only with more vigor.

Dean moaned.

"Jesus, Cas, I—"

"Lie on your stomach."

"What are we going to—?"

"We can stop at any time. For now, trust me."

Dean's eyes glazed over and he moved to lie on his front, his head resting on his arms. He whimpered, actually whimpered, when Cas once again continued with the work he was doing on the scapular feathers. "Cas," he whined.

"Shh." Cas kept one hand on Dean's wing, touching and combing through the feathers, but the other he ran up and down Dean's side. The hunter was covered in goosebumps. His body jolted with tremors.

Castiel felt himself growing too hot and took off his coat, letting it fall to the floor. He unbuttoned the first couple buttons of his shirt, too.

"Take it off," Dean whispered.

Castiel was taken aback. "What?"

"Take it off. All of it," the other explained, "I will, too."

This was getting dangerously close to impurity. Sex, in general, was forbidden to angels. Not that Castiel was a poster child for what the perfect angel was, not even close, but while he had experience in this subject he had never actually had full intercourse with someone.

Castiel knew that this, right now, was an invitation to have sex, and it would change he and Dean's relationship forever. Was that what he wanted, really and truly?

Well, he was already taking off his shirt so he decided the answer was yes.

Soon both of their clothes littered the floor. Castiel kept his fingers buried in Dean's feathers, giving a pull that wasn't too hard but definitely sharp enough to elicit a response. Dean's back arched as he cried out loudly and desperately. He used this method to keep Dean unsuspecting and unaware as his other hand traveled down to prepare him. Neither of them had lubricant, so he expected to take extra special care during this process.

Dean lurched when the finger breached him, his body stiffening. "Jesus," he said through clenched teeth, "Cas—"

"Does it hurt too badly?"

"N-not _too_ badly, just—" he cut off with a choking sound as Cas moved the finger around, wondering if he might find that special spot— "Christ! That... Do that again."

Castiel obliged, also moving his finger in and out, preparing to add another. This wasn't like a porn video where everything was going to be perfect and beautiful and it wasn't going to hurt. Sex between men was delicate. They had no form of lubricant so if Castiel wasn't careful he might actually hurt Dean, an idea that he detested.

Castiel worked his other hand deeper into Dean's feathers, making the other sink his teeth into the pillow in an attempt to hide the mewling sounds he was embarrassed about making. While Dean was distracted like this Castiel kissed the back of his neck, his jaw, anything to keep him focused on something that wasn't the second finger that was being worked inside him.

"Breathe, Dean, breathe," Castiel reminded him, "You're doing so wonderfully. I'm very proud of you."

Dean nodded but kept his face buried in the pillow.

Castiel took his time. He would do this for hours if he had to as long as it made things easier for Dean. Thankfully it didn't come to this, he was able to add in the third finger, the whole time praising Dean and making sure he wasn't in too much pain. He waited for Dean to be the one to say it was time to proceed.

"I think I'm okay," he whispered finally.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm ready, Cas."

Castiel gripped Dean's hand tightly. He felt Dean give it a squeeze. He was ready.

"Take a deep breath."

"You don't gotta baby me— Oh, _f—_ " Dean's free hand grabbed a fistful of the blanket, his knuckles going white as he attempted to bury the pain he felt.

Castiel tried to be slow, tried to be gentle, but in the end, he knew it was going to hurt no matter what. Dean seemed to refuse to accept this. If there was one thing Dean was good at, it was pretending everything was fine, acting like it didn't hurt even when it did. Dean had been to hell. Pretending that homosexual sex without any form of lubricant didn't hurt? Not a problem for Dean Winchester.

"Dean," Castiel murmured, "You don't have to pretend with me."

" 'M not." His voice sounded strained.

"We don't have to do this, you know. We can wait until another day when we have lube—"

"No! I've been waiting for this for three years, Cas!" Cried Dean, almost on the verge of tears, "I can't go another day. Please."

"But I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. _Please,_ Castiel."

Though he was doubtful, Castiel knew that he had to trust that Dean would tell him to stop if he truly wanted him to stop, and slowly pressed his hips forward until he was about halfway in. He could hear Dean's heavy breathing, feel each muscle quivering; even in the dark, he could see the thin sheen of sweat that covered the hunter's skin. His beautiful wings were tense and shaking with trepidation.

He spoke to Dean in a quiet voice, praising him, telling him how good he was doing throughout the intensity of the moment. Dean seemed to have taken what Castiel said about pretending to heart because he stopped trying to act like it didn't hurt. He was gripping Cas's hand so hard that his nails actually broke through the skin. Castiel didn't say anything, though; a few scratched was surely nothing next to how Dean felt. 

"Is it—?" Dean couldn't finish his sentence, panting for air. His skin was flaming hot to the touch.

Castiel's vision went white for a second. He had been so focused on making this easier for Dean that he hadn't let himself feel his own sensations, which were now becoming almost overwhelming. He was all the way inside Dean now. He felt like he was being smothered but in the best way possible.

"That's it," Castiel gasped, "That's all of me. Are you — Are you okay?"

"I think I need a second," whispered Dean, letting out a shaky exhale.

Castiel's breath hitched in his chest. It was taking nearly all of his self-control to not take off before Dean was ready, to start thrusting into him in a heated search for his own relief. But he didn't let that happen. He couldn't, because this was about Dean, and that was all that mattered. 

He focused on something else to distract himself, which Dean's wings were _perfect_ for. 

" _Ah!_ " The strangled sound burst past Dean's lips almost made Castiel lose it. "Cas, it's too much—" 

Castiel slowed down his touches, lightly caressing each wing, gently raking his fingers through the soft feathers. "Slow down, Dean, breathe. Let yourself feel it." 

"Oh, _God_." The rawness of Dean's moan sounded almost pained. " _Cas_." 

Not only had Castiel distracted himself but he had distracted Dean from the pain. And while it wouldn't exactly be comfortable at first, he knew that it would at least be better, and that when Dean had adjusted it might even be good. He pressed a kiss in between Dean's shoulder blades before asking just to make sure. 

"Can I move now?" He asked. 

Dean nodded. Just as he expected, it was rough at first. Dean needed to get used to the feeling before it would start to feel good and since this was both of their first times (Dean had never been with a man before and while Cas was experienced in sexual acts he had never actually participated in sex) it was a tad sloppy until they fell into a rhythm. After a few minutes, however, Dean was truly struggling to bite back his cries and moans. 

One of Castiel's hands was splayed over Dean's lower back while the other was buried in his feathers. The force of his hips hitting Dean's skin with each thrust, along with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, was enough to draw moans and whimpers out of both of them. Dean began to meet Castiel halfway by pushing himself back each time Cas moved his hips forward. It must've hurt, there was no way it didn't, but when Cas hit his prostate it was enough to make Dean cry out every time. 

It wasn't perfect. But for them, it was nothing but. Unadultured need drove out expectation and the closeness made it better than either of them had thought. It wasn't just about feeling good, because it was just about feeling. That was all that mattered. 

Of course, that didn't mean that the sex wasn't fantastic. 

Suddenly, Dean's back arched. The hand that wasn't tightly gripping onto Cas's dug into the skin of Castiel's thigh and the hunter buried his face into the pillow to muffle the loud, incoherent flow of sounds that were escaping his mouth. His muscles clenched hard. Castiel heard himself groan as the hot tightness around his length momentarily increased. 

"Dean," was all he could manage to say, "Good God, Dean." 

"Cas, Cas, please, I need to look at you," Dean gasped out, "I want to _see_ you." 

He allowed Dean to turn onto his back, and then Castiel was staring into bright green. God, Dean was so beautiful, he was scarred, rough around the edges, and dangerous and he could sometimes be cold and he had done things that he wasn't proud of, but so had Cas and this made him perfect. 

Suddenly it felt like fire was pooling in Castiel's lower abdomen. The thrusts began to stutter, the two of them fell out of their rhythm as the intensity of what they were doing peaked until it seemed like the earth stopped spinning and time went still. Castiel's vision faded to black; he heard the phantom sound of glass shattering. Cas rarely swore but now he found himself crying out obscenities along with Dean's name as his orgasm ripped through him. 

In the background of his own pleasure, he heard Dean and knew that he must've peaked, too. Dean's legs were shaking, hips jerking. His moans reached their height, and then it was like he crashed, his body falling back against the mattress _hard_ when it was over. 

Castiel pulled out of him, also shaking. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," Dean said, his voice raspy. 

"Indeed," Castiel agreed, his chest heaving. 

"Steady, Angel." The hunter chuckled weakly. "I'm starting to think you've never come before." 

"Not—" he struggled for air— "Not like that. Never like that." 

Dean moved over to the side. "Come on." 

"You want me to stay with you?" 

"After that I'd be pissed if you didn't." 

Castiel felt a smile break out on his face and carefully moved to lay next to Dean, searching for his face in the darkness. He was careful not to jostle the bed too much lest he hurt Dean. There was no way the hunter wasn't sore after that. "Are you okay? Does it still hurt?" He asked. 

"I'm fine. I'll be really sore tomorrow, probably, but I'll be fine," said Dean slightly. "I might be bleeding a little." 

"Bleeding? What? Dean, if I hurt you that badly—" 

Dean stopped him quickly. "Not the kinda bleeding you're thinking of," he assured him, "Sometimes humans bleed during sex. It happens to girls all the time. And seeing as how I've never had anything up my ass, I have a feeling it would've happened at least a little even if we'd had lube." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Positive." 

Castiel thought about that. He knew Dean would never lie to him about this but he still felt bad about it. 

"Did it hurt the whole time?" He fretted. "I sincerely hope you weren't pretending purely for my sake." 

Dean's fingertips skimmed the skin of Castiel's forearm up and down, up and down. The movement was slow and calming. "I don't need to pretend with you," he said quietly. 

Peace. 

It was peaceful. 

Castiel slowly ran his hand over marginal covert feathers on the top of the wing, not in a way that would reinstigate anything but in the same manner that Dean was doing to Cas's forearm. Dean let out a quiet sigh and let himself sort of sink into the blankets and into Castiel. The angel couldn't have asked for anything better than this. 

"Not to be cliche... But what now?" Castiel asked. 

"We do what you said earlier. Tell Sam about my wings, see what he says." 

"And then what?" 

"What do you want me to say?" Dean asked with a smirk. 

"Hilarious. Do you wish to continue being like this? Not just, _you know_ , but being together, in this way. But not just sex." Castiel felt his face turn red as he stumbled over the words, "Do you want to be with me, Dean?" 

"I guess I'll keep ya around," said Dean playfully. "Yeah, Cas, I do." 

Castiel beamed. "I'm glad," he said with a happy sigh. "Dean, may I please turn the lights on?" 

Dean's fingertips momentarily halted, but then he resumed tracing them up and down the angel's forearm while he thought about the question. Castiel forgot for a second how self-conscious the hunter had been at first, reluctant to even let Cas in the room and then proceed to demand the lights to be kept off. Still, you'd think that it was at this point nothing that Cas hadn't (for lack of a better word) seen before. 

"Dean?" 

"What if they're ugly?" Dean asked, propping himself up on his elbow. "Look, I don't usually worry about how I look and all that pansy bullshit cause running from heaven and hell doesn't really give me a lot of time to look in the mirror. But this is a little different. I don't know why I'm worried but I am and that's that." 

"Why are you worried?" 

"Well, heck, Cas." Dean sounded surprised. "You've always had wings, but I only got mine today. I guess I don't wanna disappoint you." 

Castiel leaned forward and kissed him deeply, earnestly, trying with every fiber of his being to describe to Dean how perfect he was and how he could associate disappointment with Dean ever, yet regretting the entire time that one kiss could never be enough. Even a million kisses could never convey a feeling that strong. Actions speak louder than words, but feelings speak louder than actions. 

Too bad there was no way to possibly explain feelings so strong. 

"You could never," Castiel said breathlessly when he broke off the kiss. "Never." 

Dean stared into his eyes, the expression on his face saying that this was too good to be true. "Cas, I just don't think that's true, man. I'm fucked up. I'm bound to screw up again sometime." 

"So am I. We all are. We're only human." Then he stopped and rolled his eyes, "We're all flawed, is what I'm trying to say. I promise, there is never anything you could do to drive me away from you unless it would be to say that was what you wanted, in which case I would respect your wishes." 

"I'll never say that," said Dean sharply. He then let out a quiet breath. "Ya promise?" 

"I do." 

"Well... Turn the lights on, I guess. Then get your ass in bed so we can go to sleep." 

Castiel immediately fumbled for the switch of the bedside lamp. When he finally felt it, he flicked it on and gave Dean a few seconds in case he decided that he had changed his mind. Dean didn't say anything. Castiel turned around. 

"Well?" Dean asked. His cheeks were pink, both from embarrassment and afterglow. "What's your verdict, angel?" 

"It's exactly as I expected," Castiel replied, "Beautiful." 

And as he said this, Castiel found that it wasn't Dean's wings but his eyes that he was looking at the whole time.


End file.
